Flowers on a Bloomsday: A 'Waking Up'
by E.E. Loof
Summary: Minato Arisato's soul still slumbers as the great seal. Elizabeth is still attempting to find a way to free him. It will take time, but her aim is true.
1. Chapter 1: Dawn

On the far side of the world, in a place not yet touched by the majority of man, lies a soul in great slumber, eagerly awaiting nothing, clearly content with the martyrship granted to him as part of his purification rite—as part of his destiny—as part of his cycle, to save the world, this soul had to become the great seal between the god of peril and the god of request, and the power of Thanatos alone is not enough to appease nor weaken the force that lie o so very high.

This soul was once a man. His name was Minato Arisato. To say his name in passing, it would achieve a glance ever-presently negligent when compared to saying the name of any other regular bloke; but in the passing of those who mattered to him—and by extension, was special to them—it would evoke a reaction much the same of a nostalgic encounter with an old flame, a heart enflamed, a'flamed by bonds. It would be untrue to say that this man was a mere man, as he had the beginnings of a demigod resting deep within him as he rests deep within the subconscious of Heaven, hell or wherever else men go when their souls weep and their minds contract, relaxing to where they dream—a dream they cannot dream actively—beyond their control. On the other side of the world, a girl in blue attire formally gestures her hand toward the beast known as Erebus, the one who beckons The Fall encountered in both the Bible and Finnegans Wake. The Fall is wished for by mankind, and anytime a man wishes for death, or the resultance of his species, it only grows more profound, less prudent and more vicious; in light of this ever-growing threat, this blue-themed maiden feels no fear, her aim is true: to vanquish the beast. For what cause, you think? I, alas, do not know myself. I do know that this woman knew Minato and she knew her better than he knew himself. If she knew nothing else, she knew him; and the bond they forged, in steel and blood, both battered and marred, both sweet and tender—loving,care—it has brought up a trust and loyalty only brought about in fiction.

––My, my! We are very big this day, yes? She says in amusement, letting out a harrowing laugh.

The beast, having no words, only erupts in an earth-crushing roar, one that binds the sun to the sea and the winter to the rain.

––Now, now, do you wish for death? I said the last time we met I would allow you it. I ask once more, do you want to see death? Says she in a condescending tone.

The beast is silent, preparing for an attack.

––I see, then enjoy your demise, she says with a great smile.

The girl then summons a book, opens it and draws a symmetrical shape in the system both organisms rely in. She summons a creature, Thanatos, and relinquishes the Key-bearer from Life.

––Still no good. How sad. In short time, it will return; in short time, as will I. How long this game continues, perpetually suspended both me and my mission in animation, is anyone's guess.

She turns to face the Moon. In the wee small hours of the morning, the blue moon and the stardust seemed to scatter gently across each bit of space-time. Though long ago, the light they generate is only reaching this girl now. To you and I, she looks human. She is an infinite being, one that transcends humanity. She was probably around for the birth of each star there, perhaps even for the battle of matter in the early hot-bed of the infant Universe. I cannot know, nor do I want to. I do know that although her goal is unknown to me, a look in her eyes tells me that her aim is true; and her aim is to help that boy somehow, the one whose soul goldly slumbers, whose heart will constantly remain the basin for bonds and the purification of water, the coolest of which can ever be found. This water will drain the thirst and bake the man whose will aches for athirst of cool, clean water.

––If I didn't care, I would not fight this hard for you, Minato, says she in a voice of pure entanglement, belittling her own views for the sake of his own safety.

One can feel the true love she feels. She does not want to see the world set on fire, and so she will not. If I were her, I would find a way to kill the link between the key and the lock. To say there is only one way to do this is missing the point of the problem: mankind cannot change on its own. Peace is unobtainable and love is a weak force that falls under the pretense of being powerful. I think love is a kind of unity not found in any other relationship; true, unembellished love is strong enough to kill a man with kindness. But. It is too weak to build a nation. If it cannot overcome itself, how can love build a nation, a country, a people? The human game was up a long time ago, and it seems that we circle the drain in conquest, denying the fact that our end is inevitable. That kind of naivete is the perfect mind-set for a finite species. We know we are finite. We know the world is finite; however, we don't care. We fight for existence because we would like to see the world unfold for as long as it is. When its time comes, we'd like to be there waving goodbye. The hubris and arrogance exhuming from this ambition is beautiful and it should be nurtured and developed, not simply thrown away. If only I could care as much as some do; if only I could become the ultimate hope. Hope means hope. So simple it defines itself.

The girl in blue attire lies down on a surface. Its softness is clean. It is grass drenched in the dew of human stress. She takes a deep breath, sighs and says, quietly,

––If I did not have you to keep in my mind, I believe I would have been in that room forever. Thank you for giving me purpose. A man who gives gifts of such value is entitled to be selfish once and a while. Please, be selfish to me. I will hear your true self, for I have seen it all already. My aim is true.


	2. Chapter 2: Dusk

I lie in a place where I sleep. In my youth, I wished to go somewhere where no one knew my name. Since the day I woke up at my birth and had to try interacting with others, I found it very difficult. I had little in common with others, and though I should feel upset by this, I'm not. I just wanted to be myself and be in peace; where no one tries to change me and force things upon me. My parents had died and left me alone, and that, for a while, was fine. I loved them, but only at a superficial level. It's a terrible thing to say, but I don't feel like they ever truly loved me; and I suppose that is a guess that I can never confirm. When I first became the seal, I believed it to be another part of my destiny—that still holds true, but it is a sad one for me to have to play. It's all right, to me, to allow a little self-pity to run through now and then; but I try to keep on the up often. I remind myself why I did it: to help those I love. Though I could never say it, I can say it in the sounds of silence, where I can be myself—or something off the tip that I'm breaking up with. O, Mitsuru, how ever sweet she be, never could I say to her face the love I feel for her. It is not love that is in the way of lovers, but in the way of complete trust put in another person. Yukari is another girl I came to trust. Before meeting them, I tended to wear my headphones everywhere, constantly people-watching instead of being a person. People asked me why I have my hands in my pocket all the time, and I must say that it is an involuntary action; whether it's based on ego or insecurity, I don't know, but I feel most comfortable with my hands hidden and my headphones on. Some call me aloof, I call me quiet and benevolent.

I can't recall the last time I hated someone. Junpei asked me if I hated Aigis when I discovered the truth, to which I had to explain the feeling I had—and it was one that had me tongue-tied for a while. Soon, though, I discovered what I couldn't explain to him. The feeling I had was a mix of disappointment, closure and resentment. That resentment was not towards Aigis, but towards my parents. I am usually a very self-less person, so I allowed this act of selfishness.

I think about what I say before I say it, and sometimes, even I'm unfulfilled with the choices I give myself; and when I'd much rather say something else, I freeze and panic, thus being forced by politeness to give an answer. This oddity has made me only speak when spoken to. Here, though, I don't have to talk to anyone. I'm not sure I even remember how to talk. Another fear I having is dying. I never know if my consciousness in this area is just as fragile as my real life was. I've never believed in a god, and every religion I've read just makes me mad. I feel like we have taken the great ideas and beliefs of these religions and bastardized them into fitting our warped sensibilities. It is the will of the few that powers a generation; and the few that had influence wanted control. That's what it has become about: control.

I regret not saying what I wanted to say when I had the chance to say it, but that can't be helped now. Even for those in life right now, they can't go back and fix things in their life: I am just a more severe example of that. Sometimes I regret making the choice, but then I remind myself why I did it. I can see the lives of all of them; and all I do is watch like I did back then. No questions, no limits, I can see them and watch over them. It's nice. I, of course, had courtesy for privacy; but at times, I throw caution to the wind and listen to things I shouldn't. O, I feel most naughty to do such arid things—in reality, I don't carry a waft of guilt. I mean, no one saw, right? I didn't do it, then.

I can also see another me: a female version of me. Though she is me, she is absolutely divine, in both spirit and in looks. Compared to me, she is leagues above. Enthusiastic and warm: those are what she is. She is that and more. I should know. I've seen all her actions in my stead. I don't know where she came from, but I have no one to ask. Igor is not here. Speaking of Igor, I think about Elizabeth a lot. I know what she's trying to do. It upsets me that she's devoted her existence to freeing me. I feel responsible for it. If I hadn't of gotten so close to her, perhaps, I wouldn't have made her love me. She is the one I love in a passionate, romantic sense. It's hard to express the feelings I feel when I feel her hair touch my hair.

Mine is the loneliest of numbers, and this is the loneliest of times; but not many men who lose a woman can still see them. I feel justified in that sense. There's something off the tip about breaking up, as that is what dying essentially does. It takes the bond and halts its progress or regression. In a way, it does some good for those in a broken relationship; in a way, it does some bad for those in a happy presence.

The first thing I ever said to Elizabeth was something very simple.

––I think you a very fine lady.

––What do you mean? She asked.

––You just seem like a good person. I like good people.

––What does it mean to be a good person?

––If I answer, you'll try to be what you are not. You won't be you anymore.

––Very strange. Your world is still very strange for me.

––It's strange for me, too. In fact, you probably know more about it than I do.

––How's that?

––Let me put it this way: while others pet the seagulls, I've spent my entire life watching seagulls and thinking about petting them.

We had conversations like this often on our dates. She called them dates, so I am not assuming anything. She remarked on my quietness once and said it was an endearing quality. She said she thinks I'm quiet because I'm hesitant to get too close to something. I don't think that's true, but I agreed with her to be courteous. I think the real reason is just because it takes more effort to think and speak than it does to listen. I prefer listening. My own voice can't do what other voices can do, so I might as well let them do what I cannot. She confessed her love to me before I could confess my love for her; and for this, I always was grateful. It's hard to explain love to someone who doesn't know it. If I had to, I'd say that love is when you like being around someone so much you want to kiss them, hug them or have sex with them. Sex is something I'm not ready for, and I don't want to add necrophiliac to the list of things someone is. I was far too nervous in life for sex; I don't mind saying it. If there's one thing about me I really like, it's that I don't get embarrassed by petty things other people do. I haven't felt shame for a long time, and that's really nice. It's a burden I see a lot of people carry for, what I feel, no reason; but I'm not one to stick my opinion where it doesn't belong and where it isn't needed. Let them live as they let me live.

I think that is why I like Elizabeth so much. She is as naïve as me, so I could act like a blank slate with her and find all the things I didn't find.


End file.
